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“Raise,” Ken announced, pushing a substantial stack forward. The chips slid across the felt with unnatural precision.

As Ken made his move, Caleb caught sight of Hank Bowers standing behind the rail, watching intently. The tournament organizer still wore his usual friendly expression, but something calculated seemed to lurk behind his gaze as it darted from table to table, player to player, in a pattern too deliberate to be random observation.

The turn brought the queen of hearts.

“Check,” Ken said again, but this time his eyes flicked briefly toward Lou, who immediately bet half his stack.

Caleb hesitated. The straight was there if he had a king, and the flush draw was live. But something about the situation still felt wrong, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. When he looked up from his cards, he saw Hank Bowers nod almost imperceptibly in the direction of one of the other tables, and a player there immediately went all-in.

At the exact same moment, Ty Carter emerged from the crowd to pause near the bar entrance, where he began speaking with two men Caleb had never seen before. One was tall with salt-and-pepper hair and wore an expensive suit that seemed slightly too large for his frame. The other was shorter and much darker, maybe Hispanic or Native American, with rectangular glasses and a stiff, almost military bearing. Neither of the two strangers looked like typical casino patrons.

As Caleb watched, Ty murmured something to the taller man, who bent close to whisper something in return. The short one nodded, looking satisfied.

Just what the hell was going on here?

“Your call,” the dealer said, pulling Caleb’s attention back to the game.

The pattern fell into place with a click he almost felt. Eight tables. Thirty-two players. But the energy wasn’t flowing randomly — it was circulating in a specific configuration, like a circuit board or a ritual diagram. The players weren’t just competing, he realized with a chill.

No, they were part of something larger.

“I’ll call,” Caleb said as he pushed his chips forward. When his fingers touched the felt, a pulse of supernatural energy seemed to flow through the table, connecting to the others like nodes in a network.

The river card was the king of spades.

Ken’s expression remained impassive, but there it was again — that strange little twitch in his left hand. Across the tournament floor, Caleb could now see at least five other players making identical gestures, almost like they were puppets controlled by the same master.

“All in,” Ken announced.

Lou folded immediately, his earlier aggression vanishing. In fact, he looked almost confused, as if he wasn’t sure what he’d really meant to do.

Caleb studied his cards, the board, and then the larger pattern unfolding around him. Now he realized that the tournament wasn’t just a poker competition — it was a supernatural energy collection system of some kind. Each hand, each bet, each elimination appeared to be generating and directing power.

And Hank Bowers was somehow orchestrating it all.

“I fold,” Caleb said, deciding that making a strategic retreat was probably the best option here. Much better to observe what was happening than to become part of whatever ritual was being conducted here.

Ken collected the pot without comment, his gaze briefly meeting Hank’s across the room.

As the play continued, Caleb focused less on the cards and more on mapping the pattern he’d begun to sense earlier. The energy seemed to flow the strongest when big pots were decided, especially all-in confrontations. When a player was eliminated, a pulse of something — emotion? life force? — was transferred throughout the tables, following some kind of predetermined pattern.

Caleb glanced over at the spectator area, where he spotted Delia, who seemed to be doing her best to follow the play. When their eyes met, he gave a small, deliberate nod toward Hank Bowers. She followed his gaze, her brow furrowing as she observed the tournament organizer methodically making his way around the perimeter.

In his peripheral vision, Caleb saw Ty Carter and his two associates separating, taking positions at different observation points around the tournament area, almost like sentries.

Or maybe counterweights.

But he couldn’t allow himself to get too distracted by possibilities, not when he needed to remain focused on the game.

The next significant hand formed a turning point. Daniel, who’d been playing conservatively, suddenly went all-in pre-flop. Lou called instantly, as if he’d been expecting the maneuver.

“Pocket aces,” Daniel announced, turning over his cards.

“Kings,” Lou responded as he revealed his hand.

The board ran out: seven of clubs, three of hearts, jack of diamonds, four of spades, and — predictably — the ace of clubs.

While Daniel raked in his chips, Caleb suddenly experienced a surge of energy different from the others — purer somehow, less artificial. Looking up, he saw Ty Carter watching the exchange with something like satisfaction on his even, handsome features. Whatever ritual Hank was conducting, Ty seemed to be doing his best to counter it.